


Courage

by PromisesArePieCrust



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Angry Kissing, F/M, Makeup Sex, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 20:27:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9565016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PromisesArePieCrust/pseuds/PromisesArePieCrust





	

She opened the throttle on the Hispano-Suiza, the powerful engine making more noise than she should given the hour, but it felt like an appropriate expression of her fury. She parked quickly and carelessly and stomped up the walkway to Jack’s bungalow, knocking loudly. Jack peered through the curtains, revealing a quick peek of him in a dressing gown, then, several minutes later, he opened the door wearing his trousers and a hastily buttoned shirt.

“Jack, it’s outrageous,” she began without preamble, “you _knew_ I would be called to investigate, and you deliberately coached your men—“

“Only you would call a sensible precaution outrageous,” he mumbled, backing up to let her through the door as he discretely adjusted some mismatched buttons.

“And what is _sensible_ —“ she nearly spat the word “—about prohibiting access to someone who is far more likely to help with your investigation than any of the bufoons on your payroll?”

“Please, I haven’t even had a drink tonight—“

“You’ve had your secured crime scene for an entire two days, Jack! I clearly haven’t tampered with anything. I just want a look around and talk to the proprietor, and you _must_ know that my Aunt Prudence is counting on my help.”

“Miss Fisher, I don’t need to tell you how delicate this matter is. I’m merely acting with the caution that—“

Her loud snort as she swung around, away from him, obscured whatever fool thing he was saying.

“Caution. Yes, Jack, I know how you value caution.”

He paused, raising his eyebrows. “Is that a _foolish_ thing to value in my line of work?”

“Perhaps the right lesson for the wrong day, Inspector. Our thief has had two solid days to escape Australia, and you are no closer—“

“How do you know I am ‘no closer’?”

“Why are you refusing my help?”

“I told you, I believe it sensible to keep—“

“You’re speaking in circles! You’re being sensible because it’s the sensible thing to do?! Is caution and, and _sensibleness_ what prevented you from coming to England?!” she sputtered.

This put an immediate halt to the banter. 

They had spoken of his declined invitation only casually in the month since she’d returned to Melbourne—a short, polite conversation when she greeted him in the police station. ‘Work obligations’ and ‘uncertain timelines,’ she thought he might have said, but she really absorbed very little of the discussion, too busy balancing anger, disappointment and the infuriatingly persistent attraction she felt toward him. They’d been friendly, but not romantic since her return, so she assumed she must have missed more than his reasons for not following her to England in that muddled, first conversation at City South. At any rate, months ago, suffering through the melancholy of the constant bickering of her family and the English winter, Phryne gave Jack up as a lost cause. That’s not to say that it didn’t still rankle that the only man she’d ever given that kind of encouragement to did not follow through. The whole thing petered out so dismally and unceremoniously, and she couldn’t help but mourn what might have been, given the promise with which it had started. Still, she’d felt some peace in the past few weeks, and she wasn’t sure why she was bringing it up now, except that his flat refusal of her help during the first opportunity she had had to work with him was a stronger sting than she expected.

“It took you over a month to even reach England. I had no idea if the invitation still stood, it wasn’t clear how—“

“—and it wasn’t sensible. Yes, Jack, I know which plans, which romances have merit in your eyes. ‘Tidy and sure,’ which seems to have done very well for you in the past. “

She winced at referring to his failed marriage. It was a step further than she had meant to go, but she stood strong. At this point, his refusal to show any emotion felt like a challenge, and she eyed him, looking for any indication that she’d found a chink in his armour. He paused; the only indication that her remark landed was that his eyes widened.

“I can’t say if that is true, Miss Fisher,” he said finally, clearing his throat, though likely not due to emotion. “Regardless, you are no closer to my crime scene, and I have an early morning tomorrow, so if you’ll please—“

“Jack!” she growled at him. It was all she could do not to punch his shoulder or slap his cheek. He was so unmoved it was becoming perverse, preposterous. “Why won’t you address this?”

She finally saw colour rise up his neck, but his voice remained stoic and he steadied himself somehow, his standard, impassive demeanour easily taking over. 

“We have addressed this. There is not more to say. The timeline—“

She choked on a derisive laugh, but he continued, somewhat louder. 

“The timeline didn’t make sense; by the time you landed and we finally could collaborate on a time it would still have been another couple months before I arrived, it just didn’t…” He stopped himself when he saw the rage in her face. 

“…make sense,” she spat. “Yes, you’ve said. And now?” she demanded.

“What do you want from me, Phryne?” he finally yelled. 

Building momentum from his outburst, he turned, hasty steps moving him around in a futile circle, his hands at his head. She watched in fascination and some fear as his reserve finally crumbled. “I don’t know what else to tell you. If I’d known you would be leaving so quickly, I wouldn’t have made that feeble romantic overture. If I’d known you’d be gone…” his voice broke and he made some more confused and wild movements, until he finally moved toward her, surprising her by putting his arm firmly around her waist. “You were gone for so long, Phryne,” he said, equal parts pitiful and angry.

Phryne was still captivated and, truth to tell, gratified, by his abrupt display of emotion. Watching him as though she didn’t know what to expect, she was endlessly curious; she could only think to say ‘I’m sorry,’ though she knew she wasn’t. She perhaps could have been clearer about her feelings toward him just after she left, but she was in the middle of her parents’ personal and financial crises, and her mental resources were limited. Working out the logistics of what was bound to be an unconventional romance, or possibly not a romance at all but a once-strong friendship which crumbled into a strained acquaintance, was beyond her capacities at that point. She watched him and her mouth moved as though trying to say something of comfort… ‘I missed you too,’ or ‘I wish I’d known what you felt,’ balanced with the all-too present anger she felt toward him at his apparently feeble feelings toward her; and, thus preoccupied, she was rather unprepared when his lips reached hers. 

Her instincts took over quickly enough, and within seconds she was consumed by a furious need at her mouth which spread to the rest of her body. It spread too quickly, apparently for both of them; when they leaned into each other, pelvises touching, they groaned, and it sent such a shock through her that she felt no impulse but to back away, quickly. 

“Well, you have an early morning,” she heard a detached voice that she knew was hers but didn’t feel was hers saying. She flustered minimally, she hoped, as she made it out the door, closing it behind her. 

She paused to collect herself on the other side of the door, breathing heavily for a beat or two before she regained her calm. She had only recently felt ok being only his friend, and it was jarring to reevaluate things so suddenly. It wasn’t what she came here to discuss and she wasn’t ready. She felt undeniably aroused, but exceedingly uneasy about the arousal. She focused on the task at hand. “You have an early morning, and I have a late night,” she muttered, striding back to her car, determined to make it into the jewellery store. ‘Off limits,’ indeed. 

 

Jack stood stock still as he watched her go. His thoughts refused to order themselves around what had just happened. What had he just offered her? What was he willing to offer? None of it seemed to matter now, however, because while she had been…involved, certainly, in the kiss, her ultimate response couldn’t have been clearer. In an embarrassed stupor he locked the door and walked to the bedroom, numbly undressing as he went.

 

When Jack heard Phryne’s bright voice in the waiting room the next day, he waited to see if she would just go away. He heard Hugh make some excuses for him, before he heard some shuffling and some male voices yelling. At this, Jack’s hopes of non-involvement gone, he rushed to check on the rukus. By the time he made it to his office door, Phryne had pinned one of the two men she had brought into the station to the wall, and Hugh was cuffing a second. Based on the redness around Hugh’s cheekbone and eye, it appeared one of the men would, at least, be arrested for striking a member of the Victoria police. Phryne smiled smugly at Jack. “I think if you take these two into the interview room, Jack, you’ll hear a riveting story about your most pressing case,” was all she said as she released the pinned man to him.

 

She didn’t invite him for a drink afterward, and, after their interaction in his home, he didn’t feel he should invite himself. So after wrapping up for the evening, he made his way home, unwinding as best he could once he got there, reviewing facts of another, less pressing case which had been neglected the past week. It was a comforting rhythm: tidy up one case, begin another, contribute to the betterment of his corner of the world as best he could. 

He was in just such a rhythm several nights later when he was startled at a knock at his door— startled despite the fact that it was a rather timid sound. He actively suppressed the hope that it might be Phryne.

Regardless, there Phryne stood, clenching her gloved hands together, though she dropped them when she looked up to greet him. “Hello, Jack,” she said softly. He nodded hello, unable to find his voice immediately. 

His body was a confusion of impulses—tell her whatever it was could wait till the morning! ask her to leave! pull her in! kiss her! Ultimately, he couldn’t face the embarrassment of acting brashly again, and the best way to prevent that, he decided, was amused aloofness. 

“Miss Fisher, I already vindicated your involvement, even publicly applauded you, in case you haven’t yet read the newspaper article,” he teased. She looked up at him with a pained look, and he regretted his tone.

“I don’t need vindication or applause, thank you,” she said crisply, sounding the closest to a schoolteacher he’d ever heard her.

“My mistake,” he said mildly, but sincerely. “Please come in.”

She walked into the main room of his bungalow, and removed her gloves, beginning to sit on the sofa but changing her mind immediately and standing instead. Her uncharacteristic dithering affected him. His palms began to sweat.

“I wish I hadn’t left so suddenly the other night,” she began.

“I wish I hand’t—“

“Don’t wish that you hadn’t— I’m happy we—” She stumbled, unsure what it was exactly they had done; ‘kissed’ seemed inadequate.

“That wasn’t the impression I got,” he said softly.

“It was startling. That was all. I’d been trying to let go of hope…”

“You had hope?”

“I did. And it felt foolish.”

“Not…no…not foolish.” He reached to stroke her hair, but censored the gesture.

“Jack,” she whispered, walking toward him, wrapping her arms around his torso. Her gaze was at the floor as she embraced him, and he felt a little rudderless without her eyes to consult. Finally, he put one hand at the back of her head and the other at her low back, whispering her name in return.

She eventually looked up at him. He was both startled and heartened to see that her eyes were wet, but he really couldn’t guess what she was thinking.

“Why didn’t you come to England?” She repeated her question from days prior.

He had no good response but to kiss her. 

Her body responded, and she kissed him in return, but she persisted: “Why didn’t you come to England?” she asked against his lips. He kissed her harder in response, his tongue pushing through her lips, stroking the inside of her cheeks. She groaned and began to unbutton his shirt, but whispered still, “Why?”

He picked her up, his hands strong at her thighs, lifting her and walking, taking her to the bedroom. He sat her at the edge of the bed and knelt down between her legs, his hands moving up her stockings. “Why didn’t you come?” she moaned as she stroked his hair, pulling him up to her lips. 

He became unsettled by her persistent question. He raised himself over her, kissing her and opening her blouse. She opened his trousers and brought him inside of her, as he made a quiet gasp and sob.

She laid back and arched up to him, then touched his face. Her question was silent, but he heard it as loudly as if she had screamed it.

“Because it is a lot, to feel this way. To feel this and…” he closed his eyes and shook his head, swept away with sensation. “To feel this and not have control of it,” he said against her neck, fairly weeping.

She rolled him over and straddled him, watching his eyes as she rode him quietly. “I wish I’d come to England,” he said. She kissed him softly.


End file.
